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RHYMES OF A ROUGHNECK 



RHYMES OF A 
ROUGHNECK 



BY 

PAT O'COTTER 



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SEWARD, ALASKA 

PAT O'COTTER 

1918 



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Copyright, 1918, 
By FRANr J. Cotter 



AUG 19 1918 



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DEDICATED 

TO 

ALASKA 

The home of the tin can and dog, 

A waste of snow, ice, and moss. 

The graveyard of ambitions, 

The by- word fcr'hell, 

The home of the famed double cross. 

Men come here for gold, 

Ambitious for wealth 

They stick — for they can't get away, 

They dig, drink, and die, 

And then go to hell, 

To pay for their last sucker play — 

ALASKA 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The Birth of the Land . . . .11 
A Woman, a Dog, and a Walnut Tree . 23 
When the Water Starts to Run . . 29 

The Throwback 35 

The Malamute 39 

Unsatisfied 45 

The Prospector 47 

If 51 

Us for Sam 55 

How Long 59 

That 30 U. S. on the Wall ... 63 

Flotsam 67 

Trying 69 

The New Master 73 

Prospecting 81 

The Woman That You Pass By . . .85 

Why 89 

And Still I Like Alaska . . . .91 



RHYMES OF A ROUGHNECK 



THE BIRTH OF THE LAND 

For a thousand years the Devil crouched 

On the white hot flags of hell: 
For a thousand years the Devil cursed 

The imps that had chained him well; 
For a thousand years the Devil sulked 

And planned with his hell-trained brain 
Of the things he'd do, when his term was thru, 

And freed from the blistering chain. 

He'd even the score with the men of earth, 

And give them back pain for pain, 
For all of the days he had felt the blaze 

And the sear of the galling chain. 
And it came to pass when his time was up 

And hell's gates were opened wide 
That all hell rang, and the clinkered imps sang 

When the Devil passed Outside. 
1 1 



THE BIRTH OF THE LAND 

"I have served my time," the Devil said 

As he halted by heaven's gate ; 
I have sweated in hell for a thousand years 

And each year was a year of hate. 
I have framed my plans for a thousand years, 

I have worked out the details well 
Now I'd have a place near the human race 

As a sort of a prep school for hell. 

The sons of men, on the earth below 

Have scarcely a chance to sin, 
Churched, belled and gowned, they mope 
around 

By precept, all sealed in; 
There is never a sin for lust of flesh 

Nor sin for a man struck blow. 
And the red blood crime of the olden time 

Has passed with the long ago. 

Hell's motley crew is scarce worth coal 

When they come to the thing called death; 

They squat on the coals with the real damned 
souls 
And listen with bated breath, 

12 



THE BIRTH OF THE LAND 

To the tales of the earth, when the world was 

new, 
When a man had to fight for his own, 
When he took his wife at the risk of his life 
And killed for a half-baked bone. 

Now I'd build a place where a man might sin 

For the sake of his own desires; 
Make his the cause, and his the laws. 

And the penalty, mine own fires; 
Hast a place on earth to breed such men 

Each for his own deeds blamed? % 

If you'll give me a place, I'll breed a race 

That hell may not be shamed. 

The God King sighed as he searched the plat 

And the map of the earth below; 
I have given a place for every race 

In the belt from snow to snow. 
I have given a home to each bird and beast 

For even the fox has its hole, 
I have given all land to the sons of man 

And I've builded a home for his soul. 



13 



THE BIRTH OF THE LAND 

In the sev^en days that I toiled below 

When I builded the seas and lands, 
There was much to do, and I didn't get thru 

And one place unfinished stands. 
It's the part of my work that I really regret, 

For I know it's the worst of the lot. 
It's known down below as The Land of the 
Snow, 

Or, The Country that God forgot. 

It stands apart by the Northern Pole," 

Unfinished, forgotten, alone. 
And no man's hand has won this land. 

And no man calls it his own. 
The country is made up of odds and ends, 

Unfinished mountain, and swamp and lake. 
Stuff that couldn't be used when the earth was 
fused ; 

If you want it, It's yours to take. 

'Til take this plot," the Devil quoth, 
"For I like your description well. 

Yes, I'll take this place and I'll mould a race 
That will be a credit to heU." 
14 



THE BIRTH OF THE LAND 

Then he whistled an imp from the uttermost 
part 
And they dropped as the comets whirled 
Past the white baked stars, past Venus and 
Mars 
To the unfinished part of the world. 

He landed at last on Denall's crest 

And he gazed on his acres wide — 
Barren and bleak, from each mountain peak 

And swamp to the Arctic's tide. 
The Devil grinned as he stood and gazed 

Said he, "This is just what I need, 
It's the place of my plan, for the downfall of 
man 

Where I'll change his ambition to greed." 

Then he summoned the legions of hell to his 
side 
Named an arch Imp to straw boss each crew. 
The they gibbered and cursed, each one did 
the worst 
With the jobs Satan gave them to do. 



15 



THE BIRTH OF THE LAND 

They tumbled the mountains high up, and on 
end, 
Piled glaciers where streams ought to be, 
And swamp land was placed in the desolate 
waste 
That stretched from the hills to the sea. 

They shook down all hell for a climate to fit, 

But they couldn't get suited in hell, 
So they took the worst parts and with devilish 
arts 
They built one that suited them well. 
They laid out muck swamps where the water 
lies dead 
Bred mosquitoes and moose flies and gnats 
Put the brown bear that kills on the barren 
brown hills 
And with quill pigs infested the flats. 

They shut off the sun for full half of the year. 
Made each glacier a blizzard blown trap, 

They strung out volcanoes half way to Japan 
Each one with a hair trigger cap. 



i6 



THE BIRTH OF THE LAND 

They planned for the coast line a system of 
storms 
Each equipped with a ninety mile breath 
And then spread o'er it all the fog that men 
call 
The North Coast mantle of death. 

Then knowing full well that man would not go 

To a Land so forlorn to behold, 
He salted the hillsides and some of the streams 

With nuggets and traces of gold. 
He tinted the hills with a green copper ledge 

And covered the valleys with game, 
ill this for a lure, then the Devil felt sure 

That the white man would fall for the same. 



THE LAND 

The lure of the little known places 
Still calls, as it called to your sires; 

The longing for wide open spaces. 
The perfume of evening camp fires; 



17 



THE BIRTH OF THE LAND 

The hunting for treasure unfound yet 
The knocking at fortune's own gate ; 

The doing of deeds for the joy that it breeds 
Were all used by the Devil as bait. 

The summers besprinkled with sunshine, 

The hillsides a riot of bloom 
With meadows a color shot grandeur 

And valleys as still as a tomb. 
With mountains of cloud-encased beauty 

Or with stars shining down on it all 
It's the trails we don't know that call us to go 

And no wonder man heeded the call. 

The winters, the trails all unbroken, 

The far fields that beckon and call; 
The song of the frost on the runners 

And the Northern Lights high over all; 
The trees in the bend of the river, 

The streams that nobody has spanned; 
The whisper of gold, the story half told, 

All this by the Devil was planned. 



THE BIRTH OF THE LAND 

When the trap of the Devil was ready 

Widespread went the whisper of gold, 
And the white men stampeded like cattle, 

There never was tie that could hold. 
The first mad rush to the Northland 

When the scum from the four ends of earth 
Came in with a rush, a scramble, a crush 

Like scrap in a fusing pot hurled. 

They came all untaught and not ready. 

Spurred on in the mad rush for gold; 
They died here unsung and uncared for 

Of famine, and scurvy and cold. 
They had the same laws as the wolf pack, 

Stay up, for you die if you fail. 
And the paths to the Northern placers 

Are marked by their graves on the trail. 

The towns that they started were plague spots 
With brothels and dance halls aglare. 

With cribs, faro banks and roulette wheels 
And phonographs adding their blare. 



19 



THE BIRTH OF THE LAND 

All traps for the young and unwary, 
All builded to help with his fall, 

Never dealer was fair, never game on the 
square 
For the Devil presided o'er all. 

Nick fiendishly grinned when he saw his work 

And he chuckled with devilish glee — 
"When it comes to making an up-to-date hell 

They've sure got to hand it to me. 
For every ten souls that come in to this land 

There's nine of them headed for hell 
With never a fight, the percentage is right, 

And my prep school is doing quite well." 



Thus for a time he ruled this land 

Where few might venture forth. 
For never a man-made law held good 

From Dixon's Entrance north. 
He held this land in his claw tipped grip, 

And he took his pay in souls. 
Theirs was the blame, for they played his game, 

And they paid for It on hell's coals. 

20 



THE BIRTH OF THE LAND 

But the Devil lost when the law came In, 

Or the men who made the laws, 
The gambling hall and the dance hall went 

And the Devil was forced to pause. 
For the life in the land develops men, 

Men of an alien breed, 
A new made lot, that couldn't be bought, 

And strangers to graft or greed. 

They loosed the land from the Devil's grip, 

They pierced the hills with their trails, 
They flagged the rocks at the harbor's mouth, 

They paved the way for the rails. 
They builded a school where the dance hall 
stood 

And they brought in their children and wives; 
They gave their all to the new land's call 

And some of them gave their lives. 

Now the pimp and the brothel have passed 
away 

And the gambling hall is a dream; 
A railroad train now follows the trail 

Where we followed a nine-dog team. 

21 



THE BIRTH OF THE LAND 

A thousand stamps now sing their song 

Where we panned on the gold shot ledge, 

And a picture show now marks the line 
That once was the frontier's edge. 

The milch cows graze where the brown bear 
roamed 

And a saw mill sings its lay 
On a bar in the Yukon River 

Where we panned one summer day. 
They are raising wheat where the bull moose 
grazed 

In the summers of long ago, 
It seems kind of strange when we note the change, 

But we'd rather have it so. 



Yet, sometimes we dream as we camp at night 

In the bend of the river's flow 
Of the land that was, of the land we knew 

In the days of the long ago. 
The wild free land that bred the men 

Who fought with might and main 
And took this land from the Devil's hand, 

And we'd like to see it again^ 

22 



A WOMAN, A DOG, AND A WALNUT 
TREE 

This Land is the orphan kiddie 

Of the group with their stars in the Flag, 
And it's looked on Outside as an alien. 

Where its treatment makes honest men gag. 
It's treated the same as the harlot 

Who barters her body for pelf 
And carries it home to her master 

And is told to look after herself. 

Of course we're an orphan, adopted 

When cast off by the great Russian Bear 
And our lot's been the lot of an orphan 

And we've had a "stage orphan's" care. 
Our coal land was grabbed by our Uncle, 

Our copper and fur by the Jews, 
While another gang took all our salmon 

And corrupted our natives with booze. 
23 



WOMAN, DOG, AND WALNUT TREE 

Sam gave us an Army Commission 

And told it to build us a Trail, 
But all that Sam gave was permission.— 

He didn't come thru with the kale. 
Now a trail in Alaska costs money 

And when Dick tries to get a bill thru 
Some jackass from Maine reads the figures 

And "moves the amount cut in two." 

Our Uncle Sam owns all the cables. 

And the prices he gets are a sin. 
It costs more for a word to Seattle 

Than It does from Salt Lake to Berlin. 
Our coast line is rugged and broken, 

A menace to each ship that sails, 
But Sam has no money for coast lights, 

They get the same treatment as trails. 

And Alaska is some husky orphan, 
We can reach from the Gulf to B. C, 

We could stand with one foot in Kansas 
While the other was washed by the sea. 



24 



WOMAN, DOG, AND WALNUT TREE 

We're allowed only one voice in Congress, 

And that one bereft of a vote, 
And has to get some one's permission 

Ere he loose a protest from his throat. 

Sam gave us a group legislative, 

But barred them the making of laws. 
They could only memorialize Congress 

And give it the reasons and cause. 
The cry of the world is for Home Rule 

Yet imported fools crowd our bench. 
And some of their mining decisions 

Send up to high Heaven their stench. 

Sam made us quit gambling, that's all right, 

But one thing that nobody knows 
Is why he allowed a bone head from Georgia 

Hang the crepe on our own picture shows. 
We're all hedged about with restrictions 

And, Sam, won't you in us confide 
Why some of your damphool ideas 

Are not tried out on some one outside? 



25 



WOMAN, DOG, AND WALNUT TREE 

This Land's not the land of the weakling 

And the men up here know what we need, 
And we're sick of your bunch from the Outside 

Who's only incentive is greed. 
We've stood for Pinchot's conservation 

And we've stood for your carpet-bag horde 
Who have grabbed off the jobs in Alaska 

As a sort of political reward. 

But, Sam, take a tip from a Roughneck, 

Go slow now and don't crowd your hand 
Or some day you may find that the orphan 

Has quit creeping and learned how to stand. 
Don't make us the goat for the theories 

Advanced by some government cog, 
And don't use this land as a station 

For trying things out on the dog. 

We gaze o'er the line of the Yukon 
As we're watching our neighbors at play 

And we wonder why Our Uncle Sammy 
Don't treat his Alaskans that way. 



26 



WOMAN, DOG, AND WALNUT TREE 

We look at their broad graded highways 
And then at our own half blazed trails 

And, Sam, it comes damned nigh to envy 

When we think of their thrice a week mails. 

They don't know the word conservation, 

Their resources, all theirs to use. 
And when they ask their Uncle to help them 

Their Uncle don't often refuse. 
Their Uncle has helped them develop, 

Furnished work there for men who were 
broke. 
And, Sam, when It comes to Coast Lights 

They make ours look like a joke. 

But in spite of It all, Sam, we love you. 

We love every thread in the Flag, 
We love every stream In Alaska, 

We love every cliff, every crag. 
We're not like the Woman or Dog, Sam, 

And we're not like the Walnut Tree 
Cause we want to be loved in return, Sam, 

And, Sam, you are Wind, or you'd see. 

Old English Proverb: 

"A Woman, a Dog, and a Walnut Tree 
The more you beat them the better they'll be." 
27 



WHEN THE WATER STARTS TO RUN 

Along In early spring time, as the sun starts 

swinging North 
To linger with the land it loves, and violets 

peep forth, 
When the water starts to running thru the rif- 
fle blocks at noon 
And you figure that you'll clean up, about the 

first of June. 
You've been thru a long hard winter, but you 

see the end in sight, 
You don't worry 'bout the cleanup, cause you 

know the pay is right; 
But you're feeling sort of restless, as your blood 

warms with the sun 
And your heart will start to itching, when the 

water starts to run. 
29 



WHEN THE WATER STARTS TO RUN 

You may leave your Camp at evening and mush 

away to Town 
To dally with the hootch a bit, but the feeling 

will not down. 
You may mix up in a poker game, or try the 

dance hall's lure 
But you're fighting off a feeling, that the old 

cures cannot cure. 
You've got that longing feeling that there's 

nothing satisfies, 
And your pard can't interest you, no matter 

how he tries, 
You're lonesome, moody, restless, out at Camp, 

or in the Town 
Your mind will not rest easy, and your trou- 
bles will not drown. 

Then memory pulls her picket pins, your 

thoughts go back thru years 
To Outside, Home, and Sweetheart, and this 

last thought sort of cheers; 
You recollect the days you spent beneath a 

Southern sky 
And with regret you now remember they all 

ended with good-by. 
30 



WHEN THE WATER STARTS TO RUN 

It's the same old world-wide feeling that comes 
to man each year, 

But it seems to hit us harder, when we're get- 
ting in the "clear^ ; 

It seems that it grows stronger, each year added 
to our life — 

It's the hankering of the white man for a Pal, 
a Home, a Wife. 

Man was not meant to live alone, why quarrel 

with Nature's laws, 
God gave you strength to build a home, where- 

for then do you pause? 
Go forward hke your father did, go forth and 

seek your mate, 
For till you know a wife and home, you know 

not Heaven's Gate. 
It's the deep inherent longing for a baby on 

your knee. 
For the sound of children's voices, beneath your 

own fig tree. 
The male instinct to have a mate, to love, to 

guard, to hold, 
The one instinct that's left to us, that triumphs 

over gold. 

31 



WHEN THE WATER STARTS TO RUN 

With strength enough to build a home when 

once you get a wife 
Bear gently with her follies, but guard her with 

your life; 
Crowd full her heart with loving, yet hold a 

guarded rein, 
Lest ye two now that rate as one, again be 

counted twain. 
And if she come from Outside Camp, remember 

all is new 
And give her time to find herself, teach her to 

lean on you. 
And should homesickness grip her, and you find 

your wife in tears 
Forget the jest and love her, remember your 

first years. 

Then gone that restless feeling, gone all desire 

to roam, 
Life's interest all is centered, deep in your 

Northern home. 
Life waits in peace the cleanup, you pass up 

Outside joys, 
And the tempter's voice is silenced by the music 

of her voice. 

32 



WHEN THE WATER STARTS TO RUN 

Then you're a true Alaskan, with a home won 
from the North, 

God grant you children's voices when the violets 
peep forth, 

And in the summer evening, beneath the mid- 
night sun. 

May your heart grow closer to her, when the 
water starts to run. 



33 



THE THROWBACK 

He was born far east of the Rockies 

Of a pet in society's van; 
A wine-soaked daughter of pleasure 

Bred back and threw a man; 
A man-child who grew up a stranger, 

Who never could learn the way 
Of a people who gauge their pleasure 

On a line with the price they pay. 

Just a shred of an education — 

A few years of college life, 
A course in the card and wine room, 

A year with a chorus-girl wife, 
Then disgust with a life unnatural 

Spurred on with the curse of the go, 
He quitted that life forever 

For the land of the gold and snow. 
35 



THE THROWBACK 

The Lure of the Land had gripped him, 

The Land where you die if you fail; 
The Land of the fabled fortunes, 

The Land of the endless trail. 
The Land of the lonely silence, 

The Land of the cruel cold, 
The Land of the lost ambitions 

Alaska, the Land of gold. 

There winters of long hungry hardships, 

Summers of pest-ridden heat; 
Dicing with death for a grub stake, 

Risking his life for meat. 
Tossing away his young manhood. 

Giving the best of his youth 
To the holes that he bedrocked on wildcats, 

Where gold was scarcer than truth. 

Ten years spent in Alaska 

Gray haired, with cheeks all atan, 
Beaten, but still unconquered, 

Flat broke, but still a man, 



36 



THE THROWBACK 

Digging and sinking and drifting, 
Trying to locate the "pay," 

With each hole a fresh disappointment- 
Yet hoping to strike it next day. 

Scorning the letters recalling, 

Forgetting the friends he had known, 
Turning his back on the Outside, 

Facing the future alone. 
A Cabin, a Squaw, and a Fishwheel, 

A bend in the river's flow, 
A band of half-naked breed kids — 

He stayed there, a sourdough. 



37 



THE MALAMUTE 

When the stars from the skies have fallen 

And the smoke of the world's cleared away; 
When Saint Peter marks "30" in Life's Book 

And we meet there on Judgment Day; 
When our trials and troubles are ended 

And we're wise to the best and the worst; 
When the time has arrived that the wise ones 

Have told us the last shall be first; 

When the men who've made good are rewarded 

And the losers are turned loose in Hell; 
That's the time that a lot will be learning 

The true reason and cause that they fell. 
And I wonder when Peter gets busy 

As he works out the tenement plan, 
And when Heaven's thrown free for location 

Will he confine the locations to man? 

39 



THE MALAMUTE 

If he does, my claim's open for jumping 

For I can't figure Heaven complete, 
If the dim distant trails of the sky land 

Are not pattered by malamutes' feet. 
Cause I know it would never seem home-like 

No matter how golden the strand, 
If I lose out that pal-loving feeling 

Of a malamute's nose in my hand. 

And it's that way with lots of Alaskans 

These men of our own last frontier, 
Who tear into nature unaided 

And who scarce know the meaning of fear. 
Who live on lone creeks all alone here 

Where the living and dying are hard. 
And where oft times their only companion 

Is a malamute pup for a pard. 

He's a real chum with things coming easy. 
He's a pal with things breaking tough. 

He's a hell-roaring fighting companion 
When somebody starts something rough. 



40 



THE MALAMUTE 

He's a true friend in sorrow and sickness 
And he doesn't mind hunger or cold, 

And he's really the only one pardner 
You can trust when you uncover gold. 

He's a guard you can trust at the sluice box, 

And he'll watch by your cache thru the night, 
And if some cheechako tries to molest it 

That cheechako's in for a fight. 
As a pardner he's silent, but cheerful 

With never a kick 'bout the trails 
And if it wasn't for him in the winter 

There never would be any mails. 

He pulls on our sleds in the winter 

He's first in the rushing stampede 
He goes where a horse couldn't travel 

And besides that he rustles his feed. 
He takes a pack saddle in summer 

And follows us off thru the hills 
And when we go short on the grub pile 

He shares up whatever he kills. 



41 



THE MALAMUTE 

'Twas a malamute first scaled the Chllkoot 

At the time of the great Klondike charge; 
'Twas a malamute first saw Lake Bennett 

And left his footprints at La Barge; 
They hauled the first mail into Dawson, 

That Land of the Old Timer's dream, 
And when Wada first drove in from Fairbanks 

He was driving a malamute team. 

They broke the first trail into Bettles 

With no guide save the lone Northern Star; 
They freighted next year to Kantishna 

And from there to the famed Chandelar. 
They know the long trail to Innoko, 

Tacotna and Iditarod too. 
For there's never a Camp in the Northland 

But what these same malamutes knew. 

They brought the first sport to the Nome Beach 
Where they showed up in action and deed 

That the North dog is game as they make them 
And besides that has plenty of speed. 



42 



THE MALAMUTE 

He came home with the bacon from Candle 
Like a bat out of Hell, thru the snow, 

And the plunger that cashed In his "out tab" 
Was his pardner, the Old Sourdough. 

So it seems to me kind of unfair now 

As we drift toward that permanent Camp 
Where the angels are running a dance hall 

And a millionaire grades with a tramp; 
Where the trails are located on pay dirt 

And a grub stake can never expire — 
Well, if they shut out my dog, they can keep it 

And I'll "siwash" it, down by Hell's Fire. 

They herald the growth of the Northland 

And progress is marked by their trail; 
A railroad now goes where they brought out 

The Seward-Iditarod mail. 
He's first in the growth of Alaska 

And without him this land would be lost, 
For there's never a stream in this country 

That the malamutes' trail has not crossed. 



43 



THE MALAMUTE 

But you can't tell me God would have Heaven 

So a man couldn't mix with his friends; 
That we're doomed to meet disappointment 

When we come to the place the trail ends. 
That would be a low-grade sort of Heaven 

And I'd never regret a damned sin 
If I mush up to the gates, white and pearly, 

And they don't let my malamute in. 



44 



UNSATISFIED 

Some sigh for the breath of the desert 

Where the stifling heat waves blow; 
Some pant for the trackless tundra 

And the sting of the cold and snow; 
Some long for the wash of a sultry sea 

As it breaks on a tropic shore; 
Some pine for the breeze of the northern seas 

And the sound of the Arctic's roar. 

The things that men love be countless 

But they're seldom the same with two, 
For the things I care for most of all 

Might never appeal to you. 
Some men run to wine and woman, 

Some long for a wife and a home, 
And he drifts with the tide, unsatisfied, 

Who leaves these things to roam. 
45 



UNSATISFIED 

For he hates the sands of the desert 

And the slimy tropic south, 
Or his dreams of a northern fortune 

Are as ashes in his mouth. 
He loses the best hfe holds for man 

His existence means discontent 
Still he goes his way, until comes the day 

When he quits it — a life misspent. 

YET 

Some sigh for the breath of the desert 

Where the stifling heat waves blow; 
Some pant for the trackless tundra 

And the sting of the cold and snow; 
Some long for the wash of a sultry sea 

As it breaks on a tropic shore ; 
Some pine for the breeze of the northern seas 

And the sound of the Arctic's roar. 



46 



THE PROSPECTOR 

Where the ragged, snow-capped saw tooth 

Cuts the azure of the sky 
And watches o'er the lonely land 

As ages wander by; 
Where the sentinel pines in grandeur 

Murmur to the glacier stream 
As It, ice-gorged, gluts the canyon, 

Never brightened by the gleam 
Of sun at brightest noon day, 

Nor moon of Arctic night, 
And whose only link with Heaven 

Is the fitful Northern Light. 
Where the Whistler shrills in triumph 

And the Big Horn dreams in peace. 
Where the Brown Bear skulks to cover 

Up where silence holds the lease; 
47 



THE PROSPECTOR 

Where the land is as God left it 
Nor has known the tread of man, 

There's a treasure ledge a-waiting — < 
Go and find it if you can. 

If your heart be steeled to triumph 

Nor beats less at your defeat; 
Can you watch your whole world melt away 

And still smiling, fortune greet? 
Will your heart and brain and sinew 

Crowd you on, when hunger's pain 
Gnaws your belly and you're beaten, 

Can you lose, and fight again? 
Can you raise the cup of fortune 

To your lips and bravely quaff 
The draught she has prepared for you 

And win or lose and laugh? 
Can you see the fruits of hardships 

Centered on one desperate throw 
And know Fate's dice are loaded 

Nor curse to see them go? 
Then take your burden up again 

And stagger up the trail. 
You're bound to make a winning 

Cause you don't know how to fail. 
aS 



THE PROSPECTOR 

I, who've spent my youth in following 

The lure of hidden gold 
Must pass the buck to Nature 

And admit I'm growing old. 
And yet each spring I hear it calling 

And it's music to my ears, 
The call of lonely places 

That I've listened to for years. 
It's cost me all most men hold dear 

Some forty years of life, 
And all the joys that others get 

In babies, home, and wife. 
My life's been all to-morrows 

And my family only dreams 
And to the average plodder 

Fve missed it all it seems. 
Still, I've never taken orders 

And I've always liked the game, 
And if life could be lived over, 

Why, — I'd live it just the same. 



49 



IF 

(A Steal from Kipling) 

If you can hit the trail in zero weather 

And laugh at frozen hand, or foot or face ; 
If you can eat your dogs, and still keep moving 
And beat the rest, and hold the stampede's 
pace; 
If you can stake and dig alone, unaided 

And hold your ground, if needs be with a 
gun 
And find the gold and have some lawyer steal 

it, 
And lose, and start again, and call it fun. 

If you can go a year on mouldy bacon 

And fight the scurvy off with bayo beans; 
If you can jump your socks and do your wash- 
ing 
And smile the while you patch your thread- 
bare jeans; 

51 



IF 



If you can laugh when sordid hunger mocks 
you 
And smile while passing strangers eat your 
grub; 
If you can boost when everybody knocks you 
And know him wrong who holds you but a 
dub. 

If you can still the pain when Outside calls you 
And choke back thoughts of friends you still 
hold dear; 
If you can still the dreams when night befalls 
you 
And wake and strike while eyes and brain 
are clear; 
If you can wait and stick it out a-smihng 

When longing letters come to you from home, 
And then don't find the taste of "hootch" be- 
guiling 
You'll like this Land, from Seward up to 
Nome. 



52 



IF 

If you can bear the deadly strain of waiting 
Till your turn comes, and fortune smiles on 
you; 
If you can fight and lose and keep on fighting 

And to your early promises stay true; 
If you can go thru Hell to spend the summer 
And cuss, and freeze, and starve the winter 
thru 
And start in broke again another New Year 
You don't need this Land to make a man of 
you. 

If you can beat the Row, the Game, the Dance- 
hall 
And all men's pleasures, that you know are 

sin; 
If you can live alone, and not get lonesome 
Nor heed the "lady" when she says "come 

in": 
If you can pick a winner from the "wild cats" 
And hold and hope when everything looks 
blue; 
If you can give up everything you've ever cared 
for 
Then Alaska is the only place for you. 

53 



us FOR SAM 

While all Europe is a shambles 

And the whole world is at war, 
And half the land the sun shines on 

Is drenched in human gore; 
When every Nation counts the men 

It knows are tried and true 
We send this message to you, Sam, 

"Alaska stands with you." 
You never treated us quite right— ^ 

You grabbed away our coal, 
You reserved all our fire wood 

And what we've used, we've stole. 
You soaked us on our cable tolls 

But we don't give a damn 
Even at twenty-eight cents per word 

We're with you, Uncle Sam. 
55 



us FOR SAM 

You've squandered untold millions 

On the filthy Philippines, 
But you always made Alaskans 

Go and rustle for their beans. 
And your black and tan possessions 

Tho they've cost you quite a few 
Can never be depended on, 

While we'd go thru Hell for you. 
We're quite unused to luxuries 

And we've always played alone, 
When we asked for help to build our 
trails 

You handed us a stone. 
You've four-flushed on the railroads 

But we don't care a damn, 
If they monkey with the Eagle 

We're with you, Uncle Sam. 

You gave us lief to make some laws 
Then tied our hands behind; 

That gift to us was just the same 
As pictures to the blind. 



56 



us FOR SAM 

Your laws all have a "joker," 

Made to catch some Sourdough, 
And it's hard to beat the game, Sam, 

The way it's framed up down below. 
We've always been the dumping ground 

For your political misfits. 
But Sam, if you're in trouble 

We're willing to call it "quits.'* 
We've never had an even break, 

But we don't care a damn; 
If the Lion growls, remember this, 

We're with you, Uncle Sam. 

We're used to meeting troubles 

And if you put us to the test 
You'll find Alaska loves you, Sam, 

Far better than the rest. 
But Sam, when this is over. 

As morning follows night. 
Pray give us your attention 

And set some matters right. 



57 



us FOR SAM 

We need some decent cable rates, 

We need some decent mails, 
We need some decent coast lights 

And we need some decent trails. 
You've given these to all the rest 

But we don't care a damn; 
If it's full grown men you're needing 

We're with you, Uncle Sam. 



58 



HOW LONG? 

As long as lure o' placer gold 

Brings North the best ye breed, 
As long as tales of camps and trails 

Are planted with your seed, 
As long as red blood courses thru 

And warms adventure's sons, 
They'll sally forth, bound for the North, 

Misfortune's chosen ones. 

As long as snow slides claim their toll 

And glaciers split and rend, 
And sweepers turn the flimsy craft 

And trails come to an end; 
As long as flashing Northern Lights 

Flame in the Arctic sky. 
Your boldest ones, your bravest sons 

Come North to win or die. 
59 



HOW LONG? 

As long as lust of wealth obtains 

And gold will buy all things, 
And bank accounts but mark the line 

'Twixt shovel stiffs and kings; 
As long as fancy rides free reined 

And distant fields seem fair, 
They'll seek the ship and make the trip 

To the land of Do and Dare. 

As long as birds mate in the spring 

And moose run in the fall, 
And widows win the college youth 

And hold his heart in thrall; 
As long as chance for fortune's smile 

Can be centered in one throw, 
This is the truth, the Nation's youth 

Will hear the call and go. 

As long as water runs down hill 
And smoke goes up from fire; 

As long as pleasure precedes pain 
And women love for hire; 



60 



HOW LONG? 

As long as Klondike widows 

Trail thru Outside Cafes 
Some one must stick on the lonesome creek 

For there's ever the "him" that pays. 

As long as *'huskies" curse the moon 

And creeks remain unnamed; 
As long as quicksands mask the bar 

And there's placer ground unclaimed; 
As long as "pay" is found and staked 

By some deep-sea-going Swede, 
That gypsy trace that marks our race 

Will out, then we stampede. 



6i 



THAT 30 U. S. ON THE WALL 

A MAN that's spent years knocking round "out 
in front" 

Has most usually had lots of pals — 
He's mixed up with pardners at various times 

And he's had his affairs with the gals. 
Now, a pardner's peculiar in lots of his ways 

And he'll ditch you for various reasons, 
And a gal never knows straight up from twice 

And her mind seems to change with the 
seasons. 

I've been in on good ground with pardners I've 
staked 
And I thought they were square, till I found 
They were trying to cross me, the miserable 
pups, 
And whipsaw me out of my ground. 
63 



THAT 30 U. S. ON THE WALL 

I've had a few pards that would stand the hard 
grind 
And they'd stick through hard luck night and 
day; 
They were all you could ask while you rustled 
for grub, 
But they blew up when you uncovered the 
"pay." 

Way back in the "eighties" when I'm just a kid, 

I crossed up with a breed gal I'd met 
One winter at Circle; she cleaned me that year 

And skipped out with all she could get. 
I've fallen for females in half of the camps 

That's spread over this country up here, 
But "square guys" or "pretzels" I couldn't 
get by 

And none of them stuck for a year, 

I got kind of discouraged and quit the she sex 

And figgered I'd just herd with males. 
But it don't make no difference, I guess that 
I'm wrong, 
'Cause there's always the parting of trails. 
64 



THAT 30 U. S. ON THE WALL 

I've had lots of dogs, but a dog always dies, 
Or else the poor devil gets killed. 

When you like 'em and lose 'em, their loss 
leaves a hole 
That seems for a time can't be filled. 

So pardners and females and dogs is taboo 

And I know, 'cause I've fussed with 'em all. 
There's only one pal that I know is true blue 

And it's that Thirty U. S. on the wall. 
She's stood by my shoulder and stopped a 
brown bear 

And she keeps the cache full in the Fall; 
She's got the one talk that a claim jumper knows 

And she craves no attention at all. 

I'm getting old now, and some sot in my ways, 

And I don't loosen up like I did. 
I'm slower to make friends and slower to trust 

Than I used to be when I'm a kid. 
So it's good-by to females and good-by to 
dogs. 

And good-by to pardners and all. 
For the only one pal that I find I can trust 

Is that Thirty U. S. on the wall. 

65 



FLOTSAM 

The China Coast's a dumping ground 

And the South Sea gets its share 
Of the kind of men that don't make good 
The kind of man that never could 
The men that never care. 

A worthless, careless drinking lot 

Combed out from between the Poles. 
It's gin, and cards, a woman's breath, 
Laughter and love and sudden death 
And the Devil gets their souls. 

It's a throwback to a weaker strain 
That's washed by the Tropic tide. 

And a mixture of Dago and Japanese 

Latin and Jew and Portugese 
Crops out thru a sun-tanned hide. 
67 



FLOTSAM 

But the Northland gets a sterner breed 

To fuse in its harder mould. 
It's the breed of men that don't know fail; 
That's the breed of men that hit the trail 

For the fabled land of gold. 

They're a sturdy, fearless, fighting lot 

And they play the game to win. 
They fall for women, wine, the game 
And win or lose, they smile the same 

And to quit is their only sin. 

Here the Norsman bunks with the canny Scot 

And the lad from the Emerald Isle 
Works side by side with Russ and Dane, 
North-bred men of brawn and brain, 
Men that are worth your while. 

So me for the land of the Midnight Sun 

With the north lights in the sky, 
Me for the land that mothers this race 
Where you have to fight to hold your place. 

Where you can't quit till you die. 



68 



TRYING 

The dream of the white man ever goes out 

To the fight that can never be won, 
And ever he plans to do the things 

That they say can never be done. 
It's seldom he values the things that are 

What he craves he may never gain, 
Yet ever he tries, till the day he dies 

And then feels he has lived in vain. 

He climbs to the top of the highest hills 

To search out the vales afar; 
He bedrocks a hole on the deepest creeks 

He hitches his cart to a star. 
He's ever the first in the far stampede 

As he chases the rainbow's blend, 
But it's not the need, and it's not the greed. 

It's the wanting to win in the end. 
69 



TRYING 

And whether he strives in the lofty range 

Or tries in the crowded mart, 
The longing to do what has never been done 

Is uppermost in his heart. 
He tries to build where none other has built, 

Win the maid that none other has won, 
To find the gold that he never can hold, 

To finish what cannot be done. 

He lives his life in a trying way 

And he scorns the things that are tame. 
If all seems lost, he still fights on, 

For ever he plays the game. 
And the efforts he makes as he strives to win 

Are a credit to him and his breed. 
And the gods will count and give full amount 

And accept the act for the deed. 

FOR 

The dream of the white man ever goes out 
To the fight that can never be won. 

And ever he plans to do the things 
That they say can never be done. 
70 



TRYING 

It's seldom he values the things that are, 
What he craves he never may gain, 

But ever he tries, till the day he dies 
And then feels he has lived in vain. 



71 



THE NEW MASTER 

As one who lays aside a task, where one has 

ruled alone, 
1 lay aside the crown of hell, and give to you 

my throne; 
As one who feels his race is run, whose day is 

of the past, 
I recognize your genius, and abdicate at last. 
I go and leave you master, and I feel it's just 

as well. 
For Hades lacks its master, until you rule in 

hell. 
The world wags on and changes, old methods 

now seem weak. 
And the changes of a thousand years, of these I 

fain would speak. 

73 



THE NEW MASTER 

I've raised and sponsored many names, that 

darken history's page, 
I've made them rulers of the world in many a 

by-gone age. 
They all have shown a human turn, from Nero 

down to you, 
But now my life-long dream of a super fiend 

at last seems coming true. 
I've watched you since the faintest spark blazed 

in your mother's womb, 
I've watched your hypocritic grief, beside your 

father's tomb; 
I know the tainted blood that flows thru your 

each and every vein 
That shows up in your withered arm, and feeds 

your fevered brain. 

I saw it in your grandsire, where first it cropped 

out plain 
When German gold was squandered to slay the 

honest Dane. 
I fed you dreams of empire, and dreams of lust 

and greed 
And the age old lust of conquest that taints 

all of your breed. 

74. 



THE NEW MASTER 

The strain that showed in Nero, cropped out 

alike in you, 
You killed your gentle mother, but not as Nero 

slew. 
I gave you hate of Albion, for all the world 

will tell 
That could I kill that Anglo strain, I'd use the 

earth for hell. 

I loathe the Anglo-Saxon race, I hate their 

English speech. 
For where the Union Jack waves high, the 

Cross will ever reach. 
Their ignorant millions till the soil, for they 

protect their own, 
I hate it for I've never had this ensign for 

mine own. 
I taught you how to use God's church, I built 

the path you trod, 
I filled your mouth until you claimed, a pardner- 

ship with God. 
I told you tales to tell to men, I coached you 

every hour 
Until an egomaniac ran wild, mad with a lust 

for power. 

75 



THE NEW MASTER 

I made an army for you then, the peer of all 

war lords, 
I smiled the night you went away to visit Nor- 
way fiords. 
I knew your Bagdad railway schemes, I knew 

the Austrian claims, 
I knew that German gold would guide the mad 

assassin's aims. 
I knew the schemes that you had planned, the 

one that nothing curbs, 
I envied your diplomacy that blamed it on the 

Serbs. 
My brain ne'er hatched a finer scheme, your 

armies marking time 
And then the rape of Belgium, your premier 

man-sized crime. 

And if one deals in hellish schemes, that one 

must stamp your worth. 
You made a shambles of that land, you moved 

hell up on earth. 
The cries of mangled maidens, the mutilated 

child. 
The tears of butchered mothers, would drive 

an earth man wild, 
76 



THE NEW MASTER 

And thru it all proclaiming, you were the tool 

of God — 
O pardner in this orgy, no one suspected fraud. 
You butchered, maimed and pillaged, hell never 

saw such sights 
As the Prussian Guard remembers, on those 

first Belgian nights. 

O shades of maddened Nero and his early 

Christian fires, 
Could he have been in Belgium and have seen 

your funeral pyres I 
Could he have seen your orgies he would have 

wept for shame 
But had he your fiendish cunning, he might 

have done the same. 
But the hated Saxon balked you and the des- 
perate fighting Frank 
Hurled back our super devils and took us on 

the flank. 
Your inbred tainted offspring lost his chances 

at Verdun 
Where curtained steel just saved the world 

from the grip of brutal Hun. 

77 



THE NEW MASTER 

But Wllhelm, you are crafty, you are mine own 
I ween 

Your fertile brain had brought to life the hell- 
born submarine, 

You killed the unarmed merchantmen, you mur- 
dered in the dark, 

You sent the child and mother to feed your 
friend the shark. 

The world grew sick with wonder, no voice 
was raised to laud 

And still you did it in your name, the name of 
you and God. 

Where you have trod the world is dead, no 
sign of hfe or mirth. 

You beat me, Bill, you beat my hell, with this 
of yours on earth. 

You won hell's admiration and of all of mine 

own folk 
When you paired off with the ghastly Turk, 

that was a master stroke. 
And all the things you did before, just now seem 

weak and tame 
Since you launched that Dardanelles campaign 

of pillage, lust and shame. 
78 



THE NEW MASTER 

To fuss thus with my chosen race, my ally since 

time dates 
Proclaimed that Kultur and the Turk are well 

matched running mates. 
And tho I've watched hell's orgies, and stood 

by in fiendish glee, 
I quit you, Bill, these Turkish stunts are far 

too much for me. 

When officers from Kultur's class stand by and 

watch a Turk 
Just disembowel a mother, why. Bill, it makes 

me shirk. 
It makes me shudder and I've watched the 

master fiends of hell. 
But none of them have brains like you, none do 

their work so well. 
When Turk and German flood with oil, then 

set a school ablaze 
And bayonet the babies, as they stumble thru 

the haze, 
I yield the crown to you, Dear Bill, my pupil 

passes me 
You take the role of Master and your pupil I 

will be. 

79 



THE NEW MASTER 

I've worked for hell's best interests, my master 

now appears 
For when your name is mentioned, the imps 

break into cheers. 
The gavel of the poor damned souls, that long 

has rung their knell, 
Is passed to you, I abdicate and now you rule in 

hell. 
For years I've done the best I could, now I 

realize I'm thru, 
And in the future I'm content to live and learn 

from you. 
Your earthly work is finished, soon in hell 

you'll carve your name 
And I shudder when I realize that hell won't 

be the same. 



80 



[PROSPECTING 

Looking for placer pangar, 

Loafing about in the hills, 
Getting your grub with a rifle, 

Taking your drink from rills. 
Getting your bed from the spruce tree, 

Taking your course by your dreams. 
Just camping alone in the mountains, 

Siwashing along the streams. 

Locating the hind sight on Nature, 

Traveling alone and far, 
Thinking with no one to guide you, 

Digesting the things that are. 
Back trailing the life that's past you. 

Peeping at what's in store. 
Pondering over life's mistakes. 

Wondering, how many more. 
8i 



PROSPECTING 

Dreaming alone of childhood days, 

Regretting some things that are past, 
Recalling lost opportunities, 

And chances too good to last^ 
Living your whole life over, 

RecaUing the daily grind. 
Thanking your God that it's over. 

Glad that you've left it behind. 

But still regretting your errors, 

Sad for some things you have done, 
Wishing that you had coppered some plays 

As you count them one by one. 
Now living a life, clean, decent, 

For man never sins alone. 
Getting a grip on your ego, 

Coming at last to your own. 

You dream and you hunt all summer 
Till you notice a chill in the air. 

Then you think of your warm snug cabin 
And you feel that you'd rather be there. 



82 



PROSPECTING 

Then you head over unblazed passes 
Till at last you herd with your own, 

And though you located no pangar 
You are better for being alone. 



83 



THE WOMAN THAT YOU PASS BY 

My trade was old when the world was new, 

Ere the pyramids rose by the Nile 
Men quitted their wives, and gave me their 
goods 

For the warmth of my kiss, and my smile. 
For never was wife who could hold her man 

By the honeymoon's afterglow 
Did I veil mine eyes and beckon to him, 

God's truth, and 'tis you who know. 

My trade was old when the world was new, 

Long ere Caesar ruled in Rome, 
To spend their gold in a harlot's cell 

Patricians quitted home. 
And high born dames since the world began 

Have learned to sit and to sigh 
And to patiently wait for their lords to leave 

The woman that you pass by. 
85 



THE WOMAN THAT YOU PASS BY 

I'm only a pawn In the game called life, 

Yet I take what you never could hold; 
I garner the kisses you'd barter life for 

And with them, I gather your gold. 
I garner the best of your manhood's prime 

Then quit them when shattered in health; 
I bring to heel the ones that you love 

And smiling I shear them of wealth. 

To garner the wealth that you hold in store 

I must keep me surpassing fair, 
For the life that I lead is an open book 

And the game that I deal is square. 
Stop — think of the maids and wives you know 

As you drift thru life's subtle game — 
How many are dealing as straight as I? 

How many can say the same? 

You give your all, and you slave your life 

In a struggle to hold one man; 
You think you're paid if he call you wife 

And be true to you for a span. 



86 



THE WOMAN THAT YOU PASS BY 

You keep his house and you bear his child 
And you walk with your head held high 

But most of his love, and his kisses go 
To the woman that you pass by. 

The favors you give, I sell for gold, 

And men prize what costs them high; 
You never will learn that love goes out 

With the tear in a woman's eye; 
That the patient drudge who sits at home 

And learns to save and to mend 
Can never hold the light of love 

But is doomed to lose in the end. 

So I follow the old dishonored trade, 

Bedecked in garments fine, 
And the cream of the earth is saved for me 

In raiment and food and wine. 
And hfe to me is a merry game 

Tho, sometimes, I weep and sigh. 
For deep down in your heart, do you envy me 

The woman that you pass by? 



87 



WHY 

Why is it Alaskans all come back 

When they've quit this land for good? 
Why is it that no man stays away 

When he's sworn to his friends he would? 
Where lies the grip this country hath 

All tangled around the heart 
That takes a grip that can never slip 

And can never be torn apart? 

Is it the lure of the summer sunshine 

That goes to the head like wine? 
Is it the lure of the far flung meadows 

Of the shadowy scented pine? 
Is it the lure of going where none have gone 

Of just being alone in the wild? 
Is it the lure of the ancient glaciers 

That were old when Christ was a child? 
89 



WHY 

They come here wild, athlrst for gold 

They would win and run away, 
They lose the stake they brought along 

And then they have to stay. 
Here each one follows his own bent, 

The mines, the hills, the mart. 
Work's but a name, the end's the same, 

The country steals your heart. 

There's a lure to the land of the poppy. 

There's a lure to the land of your birth. 
You swear you abhor it, and yet you'll long 
for it 

As no other land on this earth. 
There's the lure of the snow mantled vastness, 

There's the lure of each valley and hill. 
Of friends that you've met, that you'll never 
forget 

And you'll want to come back, and you will. 



90 



AND STILL I LIKE ALASKA 

I've tramped across her endless miles of tundra, 
I've rafted all her rapid flowing streams, 

She's kept me on the hummer, 

I've fought mosquits in summer 
And "siwashed" neath Aurora's wintry beams, 

And still, I like Alaska. 

I went a winter once on pay streak bacon, 
I've gone a year on nothing much but beans, 
I've squandered all my time checks, 
The kind they give us roughnecks. 
And haven't got a dollar in my jeans, 
And still, I like Alaska. 
91 



AND STILL I LIKE ALASKA 

I got a stake one time and wandered Outside, 
And I'm telling you I surely put on "dog," 

But they got in between me and my poke 

They sure did clean me 
And I hit for Dixon's Entrance, on the "hog," 

And still, I like Alaska. 

I don't suppose a man will live to beat it. 
Some day we'll quit this land of ice and snow, 

And when the Devil gits us, 

And finds a place that fits us. 
And we're working on the sulphur beds below, 

I know I'll like Alaska. 



92 



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